


Quenching Fire

by MirkwoodPrincess



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirkwoodPrincess/pseuds/MirkwoodPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the spiders pressing on their borders and rumors flying of the Orc Murzog returned from the dead, the Elves of Mirkwood seem to be suffering the hardest. In the midst of this chaos and turmoil, Mirkwood receives a guest: a she-elf named Faervel, who immediately catches the attentions of King Thranduil. With the strain of the world swirling out of control, these two unlikely companions look to each other for support. <br/>Just as their world seems to be flattening out, it is tipped upside down once again when Murzog takes something that does not belong to him, spiting Thranduil even more. Will the relationship between Thranduil and Faervel suffer or will it emerge at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

(Thranduil)

"The spiders have gained ground against us, my King Thranduil." Tauriel said, walking into the Great Hall of Mirkwood, stopping in front of a throne with a low bow. After a moment's pause, the blond king turned his head to face his guard, standing up and descending the stairs before his throne, coming to a stop before the auburn haired elf. "We must change our tactics." Thranduil stated, walking past the elven woman, leaving his back to face her. The hall rang with silence as Tauriel turned to face her king. "What is it you suggest, my lord?" the she-elf inquired, folding her hands behind her back. While Tauriel asked her questions, Thranduil's eyes focused on the throne that rose from the ground above the both of them. His throne, a lonely pillar in the center of a kingdom. He could still remember when the spot next to him had not been empty; he could still remember when there had been a Queen of Mirkwood, as well as a King. Those memories pained him and Thranduil did well not to dwell on them, but occasionally, his memories had him at a loss. As centuries passed by, Thranduil had found that it was easy to press his emotions down into his stomach and he succeeded for all emotions except for two. He always felt a sense of protectiveness over his Kingdom, and that was expected of a king. But the one that ate at him every day was one of loneliness. The King of Mirkwood the Great was lonely. With all those surrounding him, his heart ached for companionship. Since the death of Legolas' mother, he collapsed within himself and he was growing weary.

"My lord?" Tauriel inquired, taking steps to come into his peripherals. His head turned to her, the king's face emotionless, showing no signs of where his thoughts had been only moments before. "Did I not ask you to destroy their nests no more than two moons ago?" Thranduil inquired of the Silvan elf, turning his body to completely face her. Bowing her head in agreement, Tauriel went on. "Yes, you did. It has been difficult finding the source of this enemy. There have been rumors that they nest in Dol Guldor, though it is forbidden to go there."

"For good reason." Thranduil said, barely allowing Tauriel to finish before interrupting her. "Dol Guldor is outside our borders, therefor, none of our concern."

Tauriel, exasperated, continued after him. "You say you want us to rid our land of these intruders but you are not allowing us the freedom to do so." the she-elf exclaimed, a little too loudly but Thranduil was getting on her nerves. But her nerves were quickly simmered when her King gave her a look that told her she had crossed a line. Thranduil had piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the deepest, clearest pool and whenever he looked at her, she felt as if he was looking straight through her and he could see all of her deepest secrets. It was an uncomfortable feeling, not one she liked provoking often. "It would be in everyone's best interest if these creatures were destroyed as soon as possible, Tauriel." Thranduil said, turning away from her again, and beginning to ascend the stairs to his throne, simultaneously giving Tauriel the sense that the conversation was over. And indeed it was. Thranduil had no more to say to her, so she faded into the shadows, intent on doing her job, however that may come to be.

(Faervel)

The forest felt sick. The very essence of Mirkwood seemed to be fading. Faervel shifted the pack on her shoulders, staring into the thick entrails of Mirkwood the Great, intent on breaching its borders. Her travels had taken her from the land of the Hobbits to the great stone buildings of Minas Tirith, all the way to the lands of the Rohirrim, but never had she set foot in the lands of her kin. Her parents, both Silvan elves, had raised her within the borders of Laurelindorenan, but from a young age Faervel felt the tug on her heart that always came to those who wished to see the world. So with a kiss to the cheek and a wave goodbye, Faervel set off with a pack of clothes, food, and all the curiosity of a five year old. And with that curiosity, she filled her brain with the ways of all races of Middle-Earth. Her curiosity never seemed to be quenched, but her travels came to an early conclusion when she received word that her parents had been ambushed by a group of goblins on a scouting mission into the Drimrill Dale. The sorrow of that loss filled her heart with an ache she had never felt, even in her worst nightmares. But she found that exploring took away some of the throb of mourning and with her adventures, she found herself a family that took her in whenever she needed a bed to lay her head and a pair of open arms to fall into. She came to love them just as much as her parents. They were an elderly couple, which made it easy to do so. And with the knowledge that she had a home to come to, Faervel found herself standing at the head of a trail that lead her into a dark forest that tugged her curiosity. With a protest from her feet, she began her intrusion into the dark entrails of Mirkwood the Great.

As she followed the trail farther into the forest, the sunlight became less apparent, leaving the forest in twilight. Faervel made sure to tread carefully, making sure not to trip on the ever present roots protruding from the earth. The she-elf knew her fate, were she to travel off her path so she stopped ever hundred feet to make sure she was on the path that lead to the heart of the kingdom. As she walked farther into Mirkwood, the air began to get heavy. Her mind beginning to feel foggy, her chest felt like a Warg was sitting on it, breathing its disgusting breath into her face, filling her lungs with warm air. Air; she needed air. Her head was throbbing and her eyes could not find the trail in front of her feet. A dull sense of fear hit her stomach when her brain finally registered that she may not be leaving this forest with her life; she may not be leaving it at all if she could not find her way again. She needed to find her bearings and the first idea that came to her mind was climbing above the leaves, to clear her head and to see if she could find the trail again. Convincing herself that her idea was indeed a good one, she found a tree that fit to her liking and placed her hands in the grooves of the bark and begin to ascend to the warm sunlight she knew was above her.

Faervel was well in-shape from all her travels, but climbing the huge trees of Mirkwood had her gasping for breath within minutes. She had finally reached her first branch, stopping to catch her breath. For an elf, she really needed to work on her endurance. In a fight, she could last as long as the next elf, but the mix of grogginess and tree climbing must have tired weakened her body. A few minutes of rest and a clear head should do her good, so with that, Faervel began her ascent once again. It took the she-elf another five minutes to reach the top but when she did, the view that met her eyes was breathtaking in itself. The sun was just beginning to sink, sending the world visible to her eye into early evening. The leaves on the trees had a golden sparkle to them that she had seen nowhere else in the world. There was a slight breeze that instantly cooled her down. Taking a deep breath, her head suddenly cleared. A sigh escaped her lips and she relaxed. She felt herself relax, a sense of ease filling every crevice in her mind and body. She felt at home in these trees, above the world, above her troubles, above everything. Up here, she could really breath and let everything go with the wind. The tightness in her chest loosened and the wind picked up. Faervel spread her arms, feeling like she could fly. But that feeling of freedom was short lived when the sound of cracking branches reached her ears. Curious, her eyes opened and they quickly found the origin of the sound, crackling towards her.

A knot of fear wove itself together in the pit of her stomach, growing tighter with every crackle of the forest around her. Faervel had heard of the giant spiders that roamed the forests of Mirkwood, as had she also heard of the cockiness of Mirkwood's King, but had she really traveled far enough off the trail to meet up with these creatures? Apparently so. With that thought in mind, Faervel began to descend her tree, as silently and swiftly as was able, doing her best to not to attract the attention of her pursuers, but seeing as they were already heading her direction, she focused her attention on getting out of her current situation as quickly as possible. But, she did not succeed. A garbled scream escaped her lips as the face of a giant spider rushed towards her. The sudden rush of adrenaline and fear caused her grip on the branch she was latched onto to loosen, causing her to fall backwards towards the forest floor. Her body twisted in the air as she fell, passing the faces of many spiders, hitting a couple of branches before landing on the leaf-littered ground. Along with the cuts and scraps along her arms and legs, her lip was split but those were the least of her worries, for when Faervel hit the ground, there was a snap as her lower leg broke. She rolled a few feet from her landing spot, wincing in pain, the wind knocked out of her. With all the adrenaline pumping through her body, her leg did not hurt as much as it should have, but the throbbing was enough to tell her she would not be standing on two feet for a while. While she tried to catch her breath, Faervel clenched her fists open and closed, opening her eyes to find a terrifying sight descending down upon her. The sight of six gigantic spiders moving down on her was even more terrifying than the initial shock of seeing the spider's face so close, minutes earlier. Finally managing to gain control of her voice, Faervel managed to yell "Help!" As if her prayers were answered, one of the spiders let out a screech of pain, landing a few yards away, dead on its back, its legs curled over on its stomach. Her vision began to fade into a tunnel of darkness, her brain only able to comprehend seconds of what was going on around her at a time. As the last of her vision began to fade, the face of an auburn-haired she-elf appeared above her, giving a worried, but reassuring smile. Looking over her shoulder, the she-elf called out to someone, before turning her gaze back to Faervel. "Help me..." was all Faervel could utter before she fell into unconsciousness with one final sigh.

(Thranduil)

He always knew when someone entered his domain. A small tug in his chest always informed him of any new intruder, but this time was different. The tug was still there, but along with it came a jolt of happiness. The extra emotion along with the tug, caused him to grab for his chest in shock. Gaining control again, the King pulled his Elk to a sudden stop, quickly turning its head back towards the center of his kingdom.

Thranduil loved to get away from his throne and just ride whenever he could, but disappointingly, his ride was cut short today. With a squeeze of his long, slender legs, he sent his elk off into a comfortable stride towards home. Ten minutes later, the Elk's hooves hit wood as Thranduil crossed the wooden bridge that led to the entrance to his domain, slipping out of the saddle with grace, and handing the reins to a guard posted outside the door, and strutting through the large doors in front of him. Thranduil had a calm demeanor about himself, despite the urgency he felt in needing to know who had been brought into his home. As he strode into the Great Hall, he was met by his son and Tauriel. "Who have you brought back?" He asked with a strong force, towering over both Legolas and Tauriel. Tauriel looked at Legolas, as if searching for his permission to speak, before turning to face him again. "We were checking our boarders, having heard from the last patrol that the Spiders were becoming agitated, when a scream of help reached our ears. We found a she-elf had become lost within our forest, being descended upon by six of the creatures. Her leg had been broken in a fall, or I am sure she would have been able to defend herself." Tauriel explained, placing her hands behind her back. Her eyes never met his, although once she was done, her hopeful gaze lifted to meet his, hoping that her explanation had been enough.

Thranduil found it amusing that his Captain of the Guard reveled him enough to fear him. He knew he could be intimidating, but so could she. He had seen her work with the sword she carried at her waist and how she carried herself when giving orders, and if he had not been the King, his skill in weaponry unmatched, he would have been the one to find her intimidating. With a small nod, Thranduil turned his deep-blue eyes to his son, who straightened up and met his gaze. "Where is she now? Have you gained any information out of her?" He inquired, taking a step past both Legolas and Tauriel to the edge of the platform that overlooked the Great Hall. Placing his hands behind his back, he awaited an answer. "We have not attained any information from her. As far as I can tell, she is Silvan, but she was on the edges of unconsciousness when we reached her. She is in the infirmary, if you wish your questions to be answered further." His son said, coming to stand by his side. Tauriel silently made her way to his other side. The king contemplated going to see this elven visitor. It had been years since any elves from the outside world came inside the Mirkwood boarders. His face still emotionless, Thranduil turned without a word to descend down a flight of stairs, his long legs carrying him quickly towards the healing center. He made no move to check to see if Legolas or Tauriel followed, although he assumed they would, seeing as they were most likely more interested in this visitor than he was. But he felt it was his duty to check all those who entered his boarders, who were not his own kin. Arriving at the infirmary, the king, his son, and the Captain of the Guard were met by Lauralen, the healer, who gave them a quick bow in greeting.

"She is resting now. I gave her some herbs that should put her to sleep and keep the pain down. The woman had quite a fall." Lauralen explained to the three of them, respectively. From a couple beds down, the voice of a female spoke up. "I do not believe it has worked. Can I get some more because I am wide awake and my leg is throbbing."

Lauralen sighed inwardly, before bowing her head slightly, excusing herself, and turning to walk towards where the voice had originated from. Thranduil followed in suit, as did Tauriel and Legolas. Allowing his son and Tauriel to go first, Thranduil stayed in the shadows, out of sight, but well within hearing distance, for he wished to hear the answers that the injured she-elf provided them. Although he was hidden from sight, as well as he could be in such a well-lit section of the city, Thranduil could very well see who his visitor was and the sight of her made his breath catch in his throat. There, on the bed before him, lay a woman that almost mirrored his Queen, the mother of Legolas. Although it had been thousands of years since the death of his mate, seeing the elleth sitting before him caused his heart to wrench. He managed to keep the choke from emerging from his throat, as he took all of this elleth in.

The she-elf had sapphire blue eyes that kept him mesmerized, outlined by long, thin eyelashes in the color of midnight, that she batted almost constantly. Her skin was slightly lighter than ivory, complimented well by a rosy tint to her cheekbones. She had blond hair that cascaded down around her shoulders in thin, lengthy ringlets. Her eyes shown bright with mischief, but Thranduil could see a deep history behind what shown on the surface, showing him that she was much older than she seemed. "My apologies. I would get up and bow to the four elves who have done wonders to save my life, but sadly, I have a disability that is keeping me from doing that." the she-elf murmured, her gaze moving to her right leg, which was currently encased in a splint, before turning her eyes back to those of his son and Tauriel. She flashed them a small smile, which was returned by Tauriel. From his spot in the shadows, Thranduil saw his sons eyebrows furrow in mild interest. "Do you not mean the three of us?" Legolas inquired of her, folding his arms across his chest, doing his best to cover the presence of Thranduil, who was only feet away. Shaking her head, she gave a sly smile. "No, I mean four. The healer," she started, gesturing to Lauralen, who was across the room fixing up a new cup of tea, "the warrior," she said, moving her gaze to Tauriel, then to Legolas, "the Prince, and his father, the King." the she-elf finished, her entrapping eyes finally coming to rest on the spot where he stood. "Do come out King, I am not so intimidating that the famous Thranduil must hide in the shadows, am I? I do like seeing those I am talking to." the elleth said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, awaiting to see if he would do as she wished. Although what she asked was only a request, the feeling that there was more of a command behind the question was one that he could shake.

Grasping his hands in front of him, Thranduil took a couple of steps into the light, as Lauralen came over holding a steaming cup, which he knew was brewed with more herbs to end her pain. "You act as if you knew he was there the whole time." Tauriel questioned her. Taking a sip from her cup, the elleth winced, the liquid burning her tongue, before setting the mug down on a small table that rested next to the bed. "I would not have lived this long if I did not make a habit of checking the shadows. And I wanted to thank you both for saving me from those Spiders today." she said, smiling slightly, looking at both Legolas and Tauriel. Turning her eyes to him, the she-elf smiled, showing her pearly white teeth for the first time. "And I thank you, Your Highness, for allowing me shelter while I heal." She said, giving a small smirk in his direction. This elf was a snarky one, he would give her that. He liked that, although he would not let himself admit that to himself, let alone anyone else.

There was a moments silence before the elleth straightened up, a bright expression on her face once more, her gaze shifting from Tauriel, to him. "You look like you have questions you wish to ask of me. Well I will start by introducing myself. My name is Faervel, and I am a traveler, originating from the lands of Lothlorien." Faervel began to explain, as the four elves around her listened, some with more interest than others, as Mirkwood's visitor began to answer their questions, before they were even asked.

(Faervel)

When Thranduil stepped into the light, what met her eyes was was not what she was expecting at all, and she almost choked in shock. Faervel could not take her eyes off of him. His eyes were the deepest of blues, which she found captivating. They were complimented by long, cascading golden hair that was held out of his face by a crown of intricately woven branches and berries. His cheekbones were high, giving his face a sharp look to it. His lips were thick, giving him what seemed to be a permanent 'I know everything' look to him. He was tall, she guessed over six feet easily, with a slender body that was complimented with toned muscles that Faervel could easily see under the beautifully woven green robe that held to his body with a jeweled belt around his waist. Although he seemed to be less wise than other of her elven kin she had come across, his eyes held what seemed to be a world of knowledge.

As she continued on, Faervel felt the heat of Thranduil's gaze travel over her. She gave as little detail as possible about herself, while still providing enough to satisfy the questions she could see in the eyes of her listeners. Having taken sips from the tea Lauralen provided, Faervel began to feel the pain in her leg ebbing away, slowly but surely. Her eyelids felt heavy and she was having trouble keeping them open. "I do believe your tea is beginning to work, Lauralen." Faervel said, chuckling slightly as she lay her head back against the soft pillow behind her. "My apologies but I am growing weary and do not know how much longer I will be awake to give you the information you desire." Faervel said, providing a tired smile. "Then you must tell me one thing." Thranduil said, finally speaking up from the back. All eyes turned to him, Faervel raising an eyebrow in surprise. "The king speaks." She said, smirking. And he had a wonderful voice. Deep, and rich like milk chocolate and it gave her shivers. But she pushed that thought out of her mind as Thranduil continued on without pause. "From what direction did your attackers pursue you from?" He inquired of her. Faervel paused, doing her best to remember. She had been so afraid she barely remembered anything. But she did answer him as confidently as she could. "They were not heading from Dol Guldor, if that is what you are asking." Faervel said, placing both her hands on her lap. And with that, the King of Mirkwood turned and departed, having the answer he required of her. "Well isn't he a ball of cuddly fun." Faervel murmured to herself. Both Tauriel and Legolas smiled. Tauriel turned away, looking over her shoulder. "I will return tomorrow to keep you company." she said with a smile before following after her King. Legolas watched Tauriel walk out, before turning to find Faervel with a smirk on her face. Raising an eyebrow, he silently questioned her expression. Laughing, Faervel rolled her eyes. "I may be taking a medicine that makes me tired, but even under its influence, I can see you care for her, and I have been in your kingdom three hours at most." Legolas raised an eyebrow, ready to deny any accusations she made. "Do not worry, it is safe with me." She said, closing her eyes with a sigh. There was momentary silence where the only noise was the rustle of Lauralen's robes, but it was broken by the voice of the Prince.

"You will get used to him." Legolas said suddenly. The Prince sounded a lot like his father, although a little less confident. His voice had the same chocolaty, desirable ambiance about it, but Faervel still found herself intrigued with the King of the Woodland Realm. "What was that?" Faervel inquired, opening her eyes again. She wanted to make sure she had heard the elven prince right. "You will get used to him." Legolas said again, looking towards the direction that the King and his Captain of the Guard had departed to, before returning his slivery blue eyes to hers. She shrugged, giving a curt reply. "I do not believe I will be a guest among the Silvan elves of Mirkwood for long enough for me to 'get used to him' as you put it. He does not seem to take to new people very well." Faervel observed, looking down at her hands. "Do not worry. He was warmer to you than most who enter this Kingdom. What you saw today was better than most receive." Legolas reassured her, giving her a smile. Faervel lifted her eyes to meet him, flashing a smile in return. "Get some rest. You look weary." Legolas said before taking his leave. The statement of the Prince had been quite and understatement. As if on cue, all the muscles in her body felt the heavy weight of weariness settle in. Her hike into the forest, her match with the spiders, and her meeting with the King wore her out. Falling back, Faervel fell asleep well before her head hit the pillow, her dreams full of terrifying spiders and beautiful blond kings coming to her rescue.


	2. Past Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faervel bonds with Tauriel; Legolas and Thranduil come across something that bring up something from both Thranduil and Faervel's past.

(Thranduil)  


Strong Spirit. That was what her name meant in Sindarin, and it was a befitting name. Thranduil strode into his private study, slipping the cloak off his shoulders and placing it on a rack that was placed by the entry-way, before coming to stand over a map that had been laid out on a table. He had looked over this map countless times, trying to figure out where his enemies hid. Tracing a line from Dol Guldor to the heart of his kingdom, before placing a finger on his other hand to the spot where Tauriel had said they had found Faervel. The spot that the Captain mentioned was nowhere near the line he had traced from Dol Guldor. Thranduil's mind tried to wrap around what was before his eyes. Never had the spiders passed into that section of his forest, yet today, that is what they had done. With a snarl, the king tore his hand from the map, pacing around the table. These creatures were wrecking more havoc and his elves could not stay ahead of them. He was sending out his son and Tauriel a lot more than he should be but if he did not, his enemies would be doing a lot more damage than they were already doing, and even that was hard to imagine.

  


With a sigh, the king moved around the table, opening a door that led to his adjacent sleeping quarters, complete with a good sized washroom, which he now entered, closing the door behind him. He needed a bath and to clear his head. So many things were going through his head. To trust the visitor, or not? The answer she had given to his question had not made sense. Never had he heard of spiders heading towards their origin, from so far off their normal paths. He needed to get this handled. His people were looking up to him, and he could not fail.

  


Slipping off his crown and placing it beside the shirt and pants he had taken off only moments ago, Thranduil slipped into the warm water, letting it soak over his weary limbs, easing his mind. Breathing in the steam, the king felt more relaxed than he had in what seemed like ages. Although, as relaxed as he may be, he could not get the picture of Faervel out of his mind. Her eyes, her smile; all reminding him of a past he could never forget and a new chapter in his future that he was not sure he was ready to start. Deciding he had been in long enough, as the perfectly smooth skin at the end of his fingers began to prune, Thranduil stepped up, grabbing a towel, wrapped it around his torso before grabbing his clothes and leaving the washroom. Minutes later, Thranduil was layered in a loose shirt and pants, still elegant although he would only be sleeping in them, not going to court. Before slipping beneath his silken covers, Thranduil went to stand by the window of his room. His sleeping quarters were at such an angle where he could just barely see the sky through the interwoven branches of the forest. Through the leaves, he could see a sprinkle of stars among a sky of twilight. It was a beautiful sight and the king always took a moment every night to just look and enjoy. He spent every waking moment giving orders, protecting his people, and doing the things a king did that he almost never slowed down to just enjoy the world around him. A cool breeze wafted through his window, brushing his skin and moving around his golden hair, drying each strand. With a sigh, Thranduil turned away from the stunning world outside his window, settling beneath comfortable sheets and staring up at the tangle of branches above his head that made up the ceiling to his quarters. It was a while before sleep claimed him, but it finally did and the great king of Mirkwood fell into a restless sleep.

  


(Faervel)  


Faervel awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding, her breathing rapid. It took her mind a moment to adjust and fully remember where she was. Mirkwood, she reminded herself. She was safe. These nightmare plagued her almost every night. It was always the same one. Orcs, fire, and one lone figure who stood above the rest. His picture was always the clearest of all the images in her dreams. He was tall, stronger than the rest, and just as scarred and disfigured. Faervel seemed to be flying over the scene, but as she flew over the top of the lone orc, he looked up at her with a grin and an evil sparkle in his eye before growling into the sky. And that was always when she woke; the moment his yell reached her ears.

p>  


Faervel pressed her palm into her forehead, seeing if that would take some of the imagery away but she did not succeed. With a groan, she ran a hand through her blond hair, blinking herself to a state of full awareness. Faervel pushed herself up, setting her back against the pillow behind her. As if she knew when Faervel had awoken, Tauriel came around the curve of the curtain that separated Faervel from the rest of the world, carrying a tray with food on it, accompanied by a steaming cup of what she guessed to be tea. “You have awoken.” Tauriel said, seeming surprised at that fact, setting down the tray in front of Faervel. Shaking the last pictures of her nightmare from her head, Faervel's attentions immediately went to the food. As if on cue, her stomach made the sound of a dying whale, and Faervel's face flushed hot pink. Faervel could not remember the last time she had had a warm meal, let alone been served.

  


Tauriel laughed, pulling up a chair to sit next to her. “There was not much I could grab, so I apologize. Usually, our guests first meal consists of something more than oatmeal, berries and tea.” Tauriel said, giving a small smile. Faervel thanked her for the food, diving in. Faervel had never really been one for oatmeal, but the oats she placed in her mouth was like heaven on Earth. There was a mix of cinnamon's, and sugars, along with spices she could not recognize. Her eyes went wide and her gaze moved to Tauriel, who had taken a spot in a cushioned chair right next to her bed. “This is delicious!” She exclaimed, rather too enthusiastically. Tauriel smiled and gave Faervel an odd look. “Have you not tasted this sort of food before?” Tauriel inquired, eyebrows furrowing, a small smile on her face.

  


Faervel smiled and shook her head before taking another bite and swallowing quickly. “I have had this type of food before, yes, but never has it tasted so...divine.” She explained, pausing until she found the right word to describe the decadence she was currently eating. Faervel looked up from her bowl and found Tauriel still giving her an odd look, the hint of a smile in her eyes. Faervel chuckled and set down the utensil currently occupying her hands. Leaning back in the bed, Faervel cocked her head to the side, trying to figure her out the red-headed companion sitting before her.

  


“Why is it that the Captain of the Guard is bringing me breakfast this morning? What is the reasoning behind this visit?” Faervel inquired, intrigue written in her features. Faervel found herself curious, because she was not expecting to receive any visitors, let alone have one of the most important person in the kingdom bringing her breakfast. Tauriel shifted around in her chair, just proving to Faervel that there were questions the Captain wished to ask. “Why is it you wanted to visit Mirkwood? I am sure you have heard of all the horrid things that occupy this forest?” Tauriel asked. Faervel smiled slightly and sat up a bit. “Yes, I have heard of the darkness that occupies parts of the forest. But I have also heard of the hospitality of the Elves that live here. I am a traveler, I travel wherever my feet wish to take me. I had never been in the forests of my kin in Mirkwood, so here I am. Although, I did not expect to have my leg broken in the process, nor did I expect to be attacked by spiders or saved by your prince.” Faervel murmured.

  


And it was true. Never, in all the scenarios that she ran through her head, did she imagine she would end up in the situation she was in currently. She had been here a little over a day and she was already restless. She wanted to walk around and see the wonderful kingdom she had entered. Lauralin had said yesterday that Faervel was free to try moving about on day three. One more day, that was all she had.

  


“Tell me about your travels.” Tauriel asked suddenly, bringing Faervel out of her thoughts. Sitting up, Faervel gave her a small smile. “What would you like to hear of?” She inquired. Tauriel thought for a moment. The she-elf had been to so few places in her life, she wanted to hear of everything all at once. “Tell me of the Hobbits. I have met only one and they seem like interesting creatures.”

  


Faervel smiled as memories of Hobbiton flashed forward in her mind. She had visited the Hobbits on many occasions and she learned something new about them every single time. Over the many years of her travels, they continued to surprise and amaze her.

  


“Where do I begin? Let me start at the beginning. My first visit to the Shire.” And so, Fearvel began her story, the Captain listening like a wide-eyed child.

(Thranduil)  


The King awoke to a loud knocking on his door. He hated being awoken in such a manner and the entirety of the Realm knew to never wake him unless Mirkwood was under attack, he or his son were in danger, or someone was dying. The elf on the other side of his door had better have something good to inform him of, or he would be on night duty for the next month. Groaning inwardly, the King shifted the covers of his bed aside and placed his feet on the cold ground, a shiver passing through his body. Standing up, Thranduil quickly covered the distance between his bed and the door, opening the wooden barrier and his gaze fell upon that of one of the guards charged with keeping watch over the royal family. Idhrenion was his name, if the King could remember correctly. He really did have to learn all the names of his guards.

  


Idhrenion seemed flustered, as if he had run from a great distance with some important note to tell him of. “What is it that has you waking me up at such an early hour of the day, Idhrenion?” Thranduil said, a little to sharply. Stuttering, the guard tried to collect himself. “Y-your son wishes to see you, Lord Thranduil.” The elf finally said. Thranduil grounded his teeth together, pondering what his son was doing up this early, as well as what could be so important that his son could not take care of it himself. “Tell my son that I will meet him at the gates in ten minutes.” Thranduil said, closing the door before Idhrenion could utter a reply.

  


Striding over to his closet, Thranduil stripped out of his sleepwear and in moments, had on his grey cloak and black boots. Buttoning the final clasp on his boot, the King stood up again to his full height. Running a hand quickly through his slightly tangled hair, he straightened out every loose strand, before grabbing his autumn crown from the shelf just above where he stood, placing it gently on his head. In the moments before he left his bed chambers, Thranduil grabbed the three rings he kept on his fingers and slipped them on as he departed from his rooms.

  


Striding quickly down the hallways of his Kingdom, his fingers absentmindedly twisted around the ring currently residing on the forefinger of his right hand. A gift from Elena, the late Queen of Mirkwood, in the last months before her death in childbirth. He never went anywhere without it; if he did, he always went back and got it, no matter how far away he was. In the entirety of their bond together, Elena had given him two of the greatest gifts he could have ever asked for: herself and a son, whom he loved dearly. Now he had a simple ring and a son who reminded him of Elena every day. And now, lying in his infirmary was an elleth who could not look more like Elena if she tried.

  


Arriving at the gates exactly ten minutes after Idhrenion had awoken him, as promised, he was met by Legolas. “Mae govannen, Legolas. Where is your Captain of the Guard?” Thranduil inquired, coming to stand before his son, unable to find the red-headed elleth. “Suilad, Adar. I have been unable to find her, but there is something you must see nonetheless.” Legolas said gesturing for Thranduil to follow him. Following his son outside to where their steeds were waiting, Thranduil quickly mounted his Elk, Gerald, and turned to race after his son, who had already disappeared down the pathway leading away from the palace gates.

  


About five minutes later, Thranduil came upon his son who had stopped his own young Elk, deemed the name Gallan, both of whom had their attentions occupied by an emblem that had been carved into the tree they currently stood in front of. When Thranduil’s eyes rested upon the mark that had been carved into the tree, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

  


On the tree was a mark that Thranduil had hoped to never again see in his lifetime. A circle, with eight arrows carved outward from the center; it was the Mark of Murzog. Many lifetimes ago, in the early parts of the Second Age of the Sun, when Thranduil had been a young elfling, his father had gone of to the War against Sauron, never to return. The Battle of Dagorlad was what threw Thranduil’s life into chaos early on, taking the life of his father, making him the one to start leading his people. He had always been told that the Mirkwood Elves had charged early, without the orders of Gil-Galad, and had been overwhelmed. For years, Thranduil ran every possible scenario through his head but in none of them, did he see his father’s life taken by a meager orc. It was these questions that brought Murzog to his attention. He had heard of the legendary Orc commander, but they had only been tales. Now he knew how his father had perished; at the hands of Murzog. But the Orc had disappeared into the shadows at the end of the battle, once Sauron had been defeated, assumed to be dead. Yet here he was, spiting Thranduil in his own realm. Another problem added to his plate. With a grimace, Thranduil turned Gerald back towards the heart of his Kingdom. He had an elleth to speak to.

  


(Faervel)  


“The pumpkin was this big, I swear by the Valar.” Faervel said, spreading out her arms as far as they could go, laughing. She was currently in the process of telling Tauriel of her time in the Shire during the Harvest Festivals, where she had seen crops grown to unimaginable sizes. Her time in the Shire during that time was one of her favorite memories of her travels. She was just about to continue her stories, when a commotion outside the Healing Halls stopped the words in her mouth. There were muffled voices, followed by the sound of cloth against stone before Thranduil and his son came into view. Tauriel immediately stood up, giving a small bow to both the King and the Prince, before taking a step back. Thranduil gave the Captain a look that said he would be speaking to her later. Turning his icy gaze to her, Thranduil took a piece of paper and placed it on the bed before her. When Faervel saw the drawing on the page, she flinched and averted her gaze. “Man cenich?” Thranduil asked, pressing the piece of paper forward. “An ngell nin, take it away, hir vuin.” Farvel whispered, her gaze still averted down.

  


On that paper was the mark that had been on the helmets of the Orcs who had slaughtered her parents so many centuries ago. The Mark of Murzog. She could never forget such a mark, although rumors had reached her ears that Murzog had indeed died at the Battle of Dagorlad. It had saddened her that she could not have been to one to end his wretched existence. Yet, here the King had brought the Mark to the surface again. “This Mark was carved into a tree out in the forest. Do you know what it is?” Legolas asked, stepping forward to stand just behind his father. Faervel closed her eyes and nodded. “It is the Mark of Murzog. It is the mark of the creature whose followers killed my parents. Despite his demise in the Battle of Dagorlad, his followers lived on for centuries after, as I am sure you know, Lord Thranduil. It was those followers that my parents met in the Drimrill Dale. You and your kin were not the only one to lose someone to the clutches of Murzog.” Faervel replied, finally lifting her gaze to meet Thranduil’s piercing gaze.

  


In his eyes, she saw a flicker of something other than coldness. Remorse? Sadness? Regret? What emotion he had shown she could not tell for within a second, it was gone. “Goheno nin, hir nin. I spoke out of place.” Faervel said, bowing her head slightly, asking for forgiveness. “U-moe edaved. Gerich naergon nin.” The King said quietly bowing his head slightly before departing without another word. Legolas watched his father leave before turning to place his gaze on Faervel. “Garo aur. Have a good day, Faervel.” And with that, a son followed after his father. Tauriel watched both of them leaved before turning back to Faervel. Before she could even get a word out of her mouth, Faervel put up a hand to stop Tauriel. “Go. You need to do your job and that does not consist of keeping me company.” Faervel said with a small smile. At that, Tauriel nodded and took her leave. Before Tauriel completely disappeared, Faervel called out one last thing. “Could you bring a book the next time you come?”

  


Faervel heard Tauriel let out a laugh before Faervel lost sight of her. With a sigh, the she-elf settled back into her bed. Something rustled on her blankets, and her eyes shifted to the piece of paper that had been left behind. She could not, would not, believe he had returned. Murzog; a thing of nightmares. She had not ever seen him, and hoped she never had to. But everywhere she went, scary stories of Murzog’s wrath were told around fires. If he was truly back, than no one was safe. Picking up the paper gently, Faervel eyed the Mark that had given so many people such terror. Without a moment’s pause, she crumpled the paper and threw it on her tray of half eaten food. 

  


Murzog could not truly be back….. Could he?

  


Elvish Translations 

Mae g'ovannen/Suilad - Well met/greetings 

Adar - father 

Man cenich? - What do you see? 

An ngell nin - For my joy/please 

Goheno nin, hir nin - my apologies, my lord 

U-moe edavad. Gerich naergon nin. - You owe no apology. You have my regrets. 

Gaaro aur - Good day. 


End file.
